


No Fate or Destiny Says We Meet

by sinestrated



Series: Unfettered [1]
Category: Leverage
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21823915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinestrated/pseuds/sinestrated
Summary: Quinn calls in Eliot's favor in a rather unorthodox way.
Relationships: Mr. Quinn/Eliot Spencer
Series: Unfettered [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1572586
Comments: 8
Kudos: 99
Collections: Epic To Read List





	No Fate or Destiny Says We Meet

**Author's Note:**

> I promised a short series of Leverage fics involving Quinn, Eliot, and dogs. This is 1/5. "Unfettered" is 3/5. Keep an eye out for the rest; I plan to post once a week if possible.

Eliot isn’t the type to use his phone much. Hardison whines about it all the time, but as far as he’s concerned next to nobody knows his number anyway, and those who do aren’t really the type to waste time texting or leaving voicemails. If it’s something truly important, they’ll seek him out in person.

So he’s ostensibly a little surprised when, following a week-long con that had him and the team largely under radio silence in the backwoods of Montana (“Damnit, Hardison, you can live without wifi for a few goddamned days!”), he comes home and his phone immediately pings.

It’s a text, just a few lines, unknown number.

_ Calling it in. _

_ 15708 W Taylor St. _

_ #608 _

_ Chicago. _

_ Stuff’s in the freezer, but bring a couple rabbits if you got them. _

_ 5,000,000.00 _

__

What the hell? Eliot glares down at his phone, half-expecting it to cower and give up more information. But no, the text doesn’t change. Who the hell is this? Why do they want him to go to Chicago? And rabbits?

There’s something about the number at the bottom, though. Five million, looks like dollars. What does that mean?

Huffing, he hits speed dial. A few seconds later, Hardison’s tired voice comes on the line. “Eliot, this better be good, I’m catchin’ up on like, a million subreddits right now—”

“When’s the last time we got a five-million-dollar payout?” Eliot interrupts. “Usually our clients can’t afford that much, and I know for a fact it ain’t one of our more recent cons.”

“Right, Mr. Total Non Sequitur,” Hardison says, but relents at Eliot’s low growl. “Okay, okay! Let’s see, uh...could be the one from three months ago with the faulty car engines? Nah, that was six mil, not five. Uh...oh, yeah.” His voice drops. “The Latimer job. Five million dollars. That’s how much we stole from Dubenich.”

The Latimer job. Eliot looks down at his phone and the innocuous-looking text. The job where he’d had to haul Nate from a terrifying, no-point-of-return edge. The job where they’d finally beaten their oldest enemy. The job where he’d gone looking for help, and promised a favor in return.

_ Calling it in. _

Quinn.

“What?” Hardison says. “You say somethin’, man?”

“No. Go back to your geeky subrivets or whatever.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know Reddit is the best thing since—”

Eliot hangs up, brings up the text, and hits REPLY.

_ Be there tonight. _

_ Rabbits? _

__

The answer comes a minute later.

_ Fresh, if you can. _

_ Big gray’s Duchess. Smaller black’s Rhea. _

_ Play this once you’re inside. _

__

There’s an audio file attached, two seconds long. Eliot doesn’t bother listening to it, just sticks his phone in his pocket and goes to pack. He’s never tried to understand Quinn, and doesn’t intend to start now. A favor’s a favor. After this, they’re square.

He does make a note to stop by the organic butcher’s on his way to the airport, though.

#

He’s never liked Chicago much. It’s the wind, freezing and ruthless the instant he steps off the plane, that messes with his hair and makes his nose run and carries with it all the smells of a bustling metropolis.

Quinn better have heating wherever he’s asked Eliot to meet him.

He’d tried texting a couple more times after landing, but got no response. Quinn, it seems, is determined to make Eliot find his own way to the address he provided. Joke’s on him, though, because thanks to one Sophie Devereaux, Eliot’s finally gotten into the habit of using rideshares. Even if most times he glares at the driver the entire ride, body tensed and ready to engage the moment he senses an attack.

He tends to get low ratings as a customer. He’s not really sure why.

The building the driver deposits him in front of is tall, sleek, and obviously full of luxury apartments. Revolving glass door at the front, doorman in the lobby, foyer furnished like a five-star hotel, it looks exactly like the kind of place where a shady businessman might arrange to meet a scantily-dressed lady of the evening. Eliot snorts as he crosses to the elevators. If that’s what Quinn thinks he’ll get out of this favor, he’s got another thing coming.

Not that the man isn’t attractive. Sure, Eliot’s noticed how Quinn’s muscles move under his clothes as he fights, and how Quinn’s bright hazel eyes twinkle just a bit when he’s making one of his dry, deadpan jokes. And sure, okay, maybe once—twice—three times Eliot’s been alone in his apartment or at the bar and sort of caught his mind wandering into thoughts of dirty-blond hair and how it might feel between his fingers. Doesn’t mean anything other than Quinn’s not a bad-looking guy and Eliot hasn’t gotten laid in a while.

They’re hitters, assassins, retrieval specialists, the boogeymen that the Boogeyman is afraid of. And Eliot might be out of the game, might have hung up his guns and his knives a long time ago to make a life with this odd team of misfits with their even odder mission of doing good in the world, but Quinn is still in, and in deep. The less involvement they have, the better.

_ Stuff’s in the freezer.  _ Quinn probably wants his help disposing of a body or something. He’ll just get whatever needs doing done, and they’ll never have to see each other again.

Unit 608 turns out to be on the fourteenth floor. The front door has one of those advanced bio-locks keyed to someone’s face, and Eliot’s more than a little unnerved when the system accepts him and unlocks the door with a cheerful beep. He’s gonna have to ask Hardison how Quinn managed that.

Right now, though, he’s too busy trying to figure out if he’s about to be attacked. The apartment inside is completely dark, blackout curtains drawn shut on all the windows. The warm light spilling in from the hallway provides the only illumination, and Eliot steps carefully into the entrance, every muscle tensed and ready to leap into action. If Quinn still holds hard feelings from their fight in the airport hangar, if he’s somehow decided to set up an ambush...

And that’s when the low growl sounds out.

It scares the shit out of Eliot, every already-heightened nerve crackling with anxiety at the sound. But it’s not the suddenness of the noise that gets to him, oh no. It’s the fact that this isn’t a noise any human would make; rather, it’s the sound of a predator, something large and hungry with sharp claws and glowing eyes, that lights everything up in Eliot’s lizard brain and makes him suddenly remember that  _ homo sapiens _ descended from a prey species, and that giant monsters once roamed the plains, hunting his helpless ancestors through the long grass.

It doesn’t help that, two seconds later, the first growl is joined by a second.

In the darkness at the end of the hallway, just outside the circle of warm yellow light, two large shapes resolve just enough for Eliot to make out the jagged edges of thick fur and the gleaming reflections of sharp fangs. He swallows, hard, and barely resists the urge to scurry back out into the hallway and slam the door, legendary hitter status be damned. “Uh. Quinn?”

That only earns him a half-snarled bark as the first of the wolves steps into the light. And that’s what it is: a wolf, two hundred pounds easy, shoulder blades even with the kitchen counter. Its gray-white fur has risen all along its spine and it watches Eliot with golden eyes, lips drawn back from its teeth as it snarls, menacing, full of bloody promise.

And if there are two of them, or, God forbid, a whole fucking pack...

Then, all of a sudden, he remembers Quinn’s text. Taking a deep breath, he reaches into his pocket for his phone and, keeping his eyes on the growling wolf, hits PLAY on the audio attachment.

Quinn’s voice rings out. “ _ Ajhiuna! _ ”

Eliot swears the wolf blinks, ears rotating for a second as if trying to locate the origin of the voice. Then, abruptly, it closes its mouth and sits back on its hind legs.

Eliot stares.

The wolf doesn’t move, just sits there in the hallway, watching him. A few seconds later, another animal comes forward to join it. This one’s an actual dog, smaller than the wolf, one of those breeds used by military and police, with fur nearly all-black and a splash of white down its chest.

For a long moment, they simply watch each other, Eliot just inside the door wondering if he’s about to get his throat torn out, the two canines sitting next to the kitchen island, silent and still as statues. Then, finally, the smaller black dog cocks its head, barks, and lolls its tongue out the side of its mouth.

Okay. Maybe he’s going to get out of here in one piece after all.

The dogs move as soon as he turns on the lights, loping down the hall toward Eliot with a light  _ click-click-click _ of toenails on hardwood. Eliot braces himself, but they only sniff his hands for a bit before retreating into the kitchen. The big gray wolf doesn’t seem much interested in him beyond the initial greeting, but the black dog lingers a bit, leaning down to nose at an empty steel food bowl with obvious intent.

And just like that, Eliot gets it.

He almost laughs. He’s not gonna find Quinn here, not in the spartan living room or the bedroom which, he notes, contains a truly ridiculous four-poster that looks like it belongs in some gilded European palace. Quinn isn’t here, won’t be here for a while, and that’s the whole point. Shaking his head, he goes to the kitchen, setting the two bags of frozen whole rabbit on the island as he goes.

The dogs— _ big gray’s Duchess, smaller black’s Rhea _ —perk up immediately, swarming him in the kitchen with pitiful whines and big wet eyes. To their credit, though, neither of them tries to steal the meat off the counter, even though Duchess, with her height, could easily manage it. Eliot crosses to the giant French door refrigerator and opens the freezer. Yep, stuffed full of bags of frozen meat: haunches, livers, steaks, tongues, even a couple of whole salmon.

It’s the last kind of favor he expected from someone like Quinn, but he’s not gonna complain.

As he defrosts the fish and the rabbits in the oven, he fires off another text.

_ Didn’t take you for a dog person. _

_ Or an anything person, really. _

__

The reply doesn’t come until fifteen minutes later when Duchess and Rhea are already nose-deep in their bowls, snorting happily, tails wagging enough to shake their whole hind quarters.

_ bac in 2 _

_ Getin surgery _

_ dont spol em  _

__

He frowns. Surgery for a hitter is never a good situation. How badly is Quinn hurt? Is he bleeding out right this moment, or simply high on pain meds? Either would explain the terrible spelling.

_ You okay man? _

__

Almost the instant he sends the text, he regrets it. He barely knows the other hitter, and has he forgotten how the first time they met, Quinn broke two of his ribs? 

Yet, looking at Duchess and Rhea currently snuffling in their bowls, Eliot can’t help but care. A man who owns two dogs, who worries about them enough while on a job to let a near-stranger into his home territory just to make sure they’re okay...he can’t be all bad. And Quinn has evidently decided to trust Eliot, to give him not only the location of and access to the only place he calls home, but also the two lithe, beautiful creatures who are likely the most important things on the earth to him.

Something warm and not entirely unwelcome swells in Eliot’s chest. It’s a lot, to be trusted in this way. 

Half an hour, then an hour passes without a reply from Quinn. Eliot glances at the door. He should go. He’s fulfilled his favor; the dogs are fed and Quinn will be home in a couple days. There’s nothing more he needs to do here.

But then, a low whine, and he glances over to see Rhea standing in the hallway, ears forward, eyes hopeful, holding a leash in her mouth. Next to her, Duchess plays aloof, but there’s no denying the way she’s watching Eliot too, waiting. And, after a moment, Eliot sighs.

What the hell, he thinks, starting toward the door to Rhea’s happy barks and Duchess’s pleased growl. He’s got no place else to be.

#

Two days later, he’s dozing on the couch under a pile of warm fur and earthy dog smell when the front door beeps and opens.

The dogs are off him in a flash, barking as they rush down the hall. A moment later a low, familiar voice floats to him, breathless but happy. “Hey, girls! Yeah, I missed you too—ow! Duch,  _ careful! _ ”

Eliot yawns, taking a moment to stretch his shoulders before heaving himself off the couch. Sure enough, Quinn crouches just inside the door, bracing himself against the wall to keep from being bowled over by three hundred total pounds of enthusiastic dog. Leaning a hip against the armrest, Eliot clears his throat. “Hey, Quinn.”

It’s a testament to how tired and hurting Quinn must be that he actually jumps, head snapping up as his hand flies to his belt for a weapon. Then in the next instant he spots Eliot, and the line of his shoulders relaxes just a bit. “Spencer.”

He rises slowly to his feet, and Eliot takes the opportunity to give him a once-over. Wherever Quinn’s been the last few days, they haven’t been kind to him: there’s a bruise on his face, a cut on his cheek, and his clothes look rumpled and slept in. The way he holds himself as he stands is also careful and gingerly; Eliot wouldn’t be surprised if, underneath the suit jacket and stained white shirt, Quinn’s whole torso is covered in bandages.

Quinn breaks the silence first. “Didn’t expect you to hang around.” The look on his face isn’t entirely trusting, but it also doesn’t look like he’s about to throw Eliot out the first chance he gets, so Eliot takes it as a win.

“Your wolves looked like they could use some company.”

“Half.”

“What?”

Quinn nods at Duchess, who is watching them with the intensity of a judge at a tennis match. “She’s only half-wolf. The other half’s Anatolian Shepherd. Rhea’s a Belgian Malinois.”

Well, of course. Eliot shakes his head. “Anyway, I had some downtime and I figured you were hurt, so...” He shrugs. 

“Right.” If there’s one word to describe the look on Quinn’s face right now, it’s careful. “Well, I’m home now and the dogs are good, so...”

He glances meaningfully at the door. And, years down the line, Eliot will never be able to explain what he does next, whether he always suspected where he and Quinn would end up, or if he simply loses his mind for a moment. Either way, the words are out before he can stop them. “I could stay.”

Quinn stares. Eliot swallows and tries not to blush because yeah, that was stupid, but strangely enough, now that the words are out, he doesn’t really want to take them back. Sure, he and Quinn were once enemies, but now they’re not, and Eliot’s kind of curious about where they go from here. Can they be allies, or maybe even friends? Can they...

Then Quinn shakes his head. Just as Eliot’s heart starts to drop into his stomach, though, the younger man’s lips quirk up in a smile. “You’re supposed to buy me dinner first, y’know.”

Eliot grins right back around the warm relief suffusing his chest. “I’m sure I can whip somethin’ up.”

“Know any vegan recipes?”

Huh. Come to think of it, the meat  _ is _ all in the freezer. Another surprise, but not a bad one. “No, but I learn quick.”

Quinn shakes his head again, chuckling low as he limps over to the refrigerator. Feeling a little warm and silly, Eliot turns and goes to grab a cutting board and a knife. He has no idea what’ll happen or where they go from here, but as long as Quinn’s willing to have him, Eliot’s along for the ride.

Then, from inside the fridge: “Aw, hell, Spencer, you gave ‘em  _ all _ the salmon? I told you not to spoil ‘em!”

And Eliot can’t help but laugh, for the first time in his life completely and utterly free.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Regarding translations:** All my works, including this one, can be translated without first asking my express permission. I ask only that you credit me as the original author and provide a link back to the original work. For anything other than translations, please ask first. Thanks.


End file.
